


Backtracks

by morphaileffect



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Community: hobbit_kink, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/morphaileffect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles based on cheesy 80s songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Andy/Martin: Midnight Blue

**Author's Note:**

> based on Brumisateur's musicbiz!AU (http://archiveofourown.org/works/753111) and Electric Light Orchestra's song of the same title (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwBGBElJcuo)

He had hoped to find Martin angry. An angry Martin was easier to deal with. He'd stand there while the little man rained abuse down on the nearest hapless, inanimate object, or else ranted and railed to high heaven. Martin would seem a lot bigger then, the force of his emotions bearing down on everything in sight.

And Andy would feel big, too, for being the only thing capable of standing up to the assault. He would just stand there and let Martin ramble, until he was exhausted and deflated and out of curse words. No one else would be able to handle it. People had fled for their lives in sheer anticipation of it.

But anger was not what he found, and he wasn't sure what to do. He could walk away at that instant and save himself, spare them both the awkwardness.

Still, he had never walked away from Martin when Martin needed him before. And he wasn't sure, but there was a good chance he needed someone now.

As he approached, he saw Martin try desperately to stop. The spirit was willing, but inertia was a bitch, and the tears kept falling in spite of his best efforts. Andy had never seen Martin cry before - not through his parents' divorce, the stress that eventually drove him out of school, all their setbacks as a team.

Soon he got too close, and Martin tried to turn away. Andy sat beside him and waited. When Martin still wouldn't turn to him he laid a hand on Martin's shoulder, and then both his friend's shoulders started to shake.

Martin was a wreck.

Andy knew what (or rather, whom) Martin had invested so much on, it was no big industry secret - but only Andy knew exactly how much Martin had put in. All that "free" time after work, all those phone calls, all those gifts, little messages of encouragement - things Martin had never really given anyone before.

If only Andy wasn't sure that Richard was such a good guy, he would've flown all the way to LA just to sock him one.

And yet, he knew, good guys break hearts all the time.

"You're a fuckin' liar, mate," he said softly.

Martin's response was to double his efforts to level his own breathing.

"We swore on this," Andy continued. "Said we'd never cry if ever we got dumped. Not when there are plenty of other bleeding things in this bleeding world to cry about."

"Yeah, well," Martin answered as soon as he was able to. "Easy to say when you haven't been dumped before, I find."

"Says you."

Andy could've tried to say it more humorously. "Sod off," was the acrimonious answer." You've never been dumped in your life."

Not true. Martin either didn't remember, or else thought Andy was drunk/stoned out of his mind during that confession many years ago. Because of that it was still happening; they were still teenagers and things were not going according to Andy's plan.

"Who'd dump you, anyway," Martin asked.

_Someone who never said he loved me back._

"It'll happen. Happens to the best of us." Andy gave his friend's back two strong, reassuring pats. "This is just one of those things we'll manage to live down."

Martin looked at Andy, and then looked liked he was going to cry again. But he was somehow able to stem the tide, this time.

"Come on." _I can't stand to see you like this._ "Give us a laugh. If you can do it, we'll leave you alone."

He tried. Andy could tell he tried. Martin looked up at the starless midnight sky and tried to think of something funny, something that could possibly make Andy go away, as promised.

But he couldn't. Not at the moment. He might need a bit more time.

Until then, tired out and helpless, he laid his head on Andy's shoulder. And Andy let him, let the force of his emotions bear down mercilessly.

After all, he could take it. Andy sat there holding them both upright and thinking, he was the only one in the world who could.


	2. Dean/Richard: Tell Me All About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for this prompt at the Hobbit kink meme (http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=7456979) and based on this song by Michael Franks (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjlnwk-7yqM)

"You're not the dwarven king yet, Richard." Dean made a couple of loops in the air with one hand. "Loosen up!"

Getting people to relax and have fun was perhaps Dean's favorite part of the shoot. He was in his element behind the lens. From there, for example, he could see that the problem wasn't in Richard was channeling Thorin at that moment - Richard just wasn't used to impromptu photoshoots and was therefore not finding it easy to "loosen up."

In fact, it may have hurt matters, because Richard tensed up even more when he said that.

It was weird for an actor to be so uptight, Dean knew, because part of their training was learning how to change appearances on call. Richard, with his stubborn introversion, was a rare breed of actor - and perhaps that was why finally getting him in front of the lens felt more of an achievement than it should.

"You know you gave me a hard time?" Dean light-heartedly said. "I've met people who're shy about having their photos taken, but you were going so far as to walk the other way when you saw me coming down the street."

"I didn't do that," Richard protested. He grinned apologetically though, which Dean found endearing.

"How'd I get you to agree to this, again?"

"Well, you wouldn't give up," Richard admitted. "I didn't know how else to get rid of you."

He didn't sound angry, which was good. He sounded amused, and more than a little curious.

"You're not worried about privacy or anything, are you?"

"Privacy, sure," was the thoughtful answer, "and other things..."

"What other things? Like you're not going to look good?"

Richard grinned again, and Dean chuckled.

"Don't worry, mate, I've been doing this for years. All you have to do is smile and I'll do the rest."

That wasn't nearly enough, but Dean wasn't expecting it to be.

"You have really pretty eyes, you know?"

The comment made Richard fidget. "It's the lighting."

"Can't be." Dean gestured to the studio lights. "I have shitty lighting right now and your eyes are still gorgeous."

Normally people would respond to a cheesy line like this with a flash of amusement, something he could capture on camera as an impish grin or a confident stare. But Richard ducked his head and turned away a bit - _Stop looking at my eyes_ , this gesture said - and at the same time kept his face well within scope, his eyes focused on something at the level of Dean's knees, so his irises would still be caught as two slivers of blue light in the shot.

At least his bashfulness made for some pretty dramatic shots, if your shutter was fast enough.

And Dean's was.

"They got us some pretty good masseurs," Dean pointed out. "You should take advantage."

"It's not that..." But Richard trailed off.

Dean was patient, but as a photographer, he knew the value of timing. And it was time for a slight push. "Since you won't tell me, I'll have to guess."

Richard looked up at him nervously.

"You don't believe you can hack this, do you?" Dean smiled. "No worries, you're not the first or the only one."

Richard's brow furrowed. "Really. Care to share?" he challenged.

"Sorry... photographer-subject confidentiality. I don't shoot and tell." Dean spread his arms wide in a mockery of helplessness. "What I can say, though, is that I still can't believe I'm here, either."

Richard's features softened a bit upon hearing that. Dean seized the moment and pressed the shutter - and if he had been a split second late, he would have missed it. In an instant, Richard became guarded again.

"Think of it this way," Dean persisted, "it's been three weeks. They haven't sent you home. You haven't died from boot camp. Fitting for costumes and prosthetics is scheduled in a few days. I think all that means you're here to stay."

"What if that's not what it means," Richard grimly interrupted, making Dean look up from behind the lens. "What if this means one wrong move, and I get shipped home? Then you'd be stuck with photos of 'the guy who could've been Thorin Oakenshield,' the one who was sent packing because he couldn't live up to the part."

Saying it aloud made Richard outright upset. It seemed Dean's persistence had unlocked sentiments he'd been trying to bury. He left the viewfinder's scope and paced the studio, and Dean quietly let him.

"Have you heard about the others who auditioned for Thorin?" Dean felt like he was witnessing a personal and unrehearsed soliloquy. It seemed to take all of Richard's control to keep his voice from rising in a panic. His lean muscles radiated anxiety with every move. "Older actors, _much_ older actors, much more accomplished than I am. They need the break as much as I do. Why did it come to me? How long do I get to keep it? I wasn't even looking to get the part, I came in for a smaller role, I didn't expect this..."

The way Dean saw it, there were two options: let Richard ramble it out, or go over there and do something. The second option seemed the more charitable thing to do. After all, Dean had plenty of calm to share right now, and it looked like the guy desperately needed some.

Dean abandoned his camera and walked out into the set. He stood in Richard's way and laid his hands on Richard's shoulders to get him to stop pacing. Dutifully, Richard stopped. But his deep-set distress kept him from looking into anyone's eyes, even in confinement.

Dean tried to look him in the eye anyway. With one hand he turned Richard's face toward him gently. "I'll make you a deal," he said slowly. "If they send you home, I'm quitting. Because I don't think there's a better actor for the part than you."

They weren't dwarven king and eldest sister-son yet - they were just fellow actors out of a shot. They had no roles to play, nothing to live up to, no loyalties imposed on them.

So this was perhaps one of the most unexpected moments for Richard to hear something like this. Surprise registered when he gave up and met Dean's steady stare.

"But you know what? That's not going to happen. There are things you can see behind the lens that you can't see with the naked eye... and what I see is that you're perfect." A corner of Dean's lips rose. "For the part, I mean. And Peter and the others, they're going to see that, too. If I could only put you behind the camera so you could watch yourself move and speak and _breathe,_ you'd know what I'm talking about."

Unscripted though the words were, they achieved their intended effect. They washed over Richard like cold water, relaxed him visibly.

He really had the most expressive face. Dean knew from the start that he wouldn't regret hounding the man for photographs.

"But since that can't be done, you'll have to take my word for it." He let go of Richard and stepped back. "Or will you agree to a private taping? I think that's the next best thing. I do have a laptop with editing software back at my flat. I'm no expert, but we can probably work something out..."

He walked back to his gear, checked the filters and lenses he could combine for his next shot, calmly waiting in the meantime.

Presently, Richard answered, "When?"

Dean smiled to himself.

"When do you want?" he asked without turning. "Let's make it when you're free, so I won't have to chase you around and it won't be because there's no other way to get rid of me."

When he looked through the lens again, it was at Richard fresh out of a small chuckle. His shoulders were no longer stiffly squared, and he was smiling openly.

At Dean.

It was, on its own, a small triumph.

But one that wasn't nearly enough.

"After this shoot?" Dean helpfully suggested.

"All right," was the ready answer, though Richard's voice had lowered in volume and tone. Dean supposed that at that stage, it was as close as the shy man could get to flirting. "I hope you have wine."

Dean smirked as he picked up the tripod, moved to another angle, a different light. "Barrels," he quipped.


	3. Lee/Richard: The Lady in Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for this prompt at the Hobbit kink meme (http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?replyto=12056019#add_comment) and inspired by this instrumental version of Chris de Burgh's song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZA80h9jXtE)

For their anniversary, Lee had promised him something new.

He just hadn't counted on Lee securing an entire ballroom.

After the first few seconds adjusting to the amount of empty space, Richard saw that it wasn't that big after all - it just seemed huge, for just two people, but it wasn't overwhelming. It was a posh hotel, and the setup had been given much thought - crystal chandeliers, red velvet curtains, small banquet table off in a corner, an abundance of food and fine wine. This must have cost Lee a pretty penny.

And Lee himself stood in the middle of the room, wearing an expensive and quite obviously new suit, and a wide welcoming smile. Richard suddenly felt a little underdressed, even if there was no one else there, and even if he was sure the old gray suit he wore would be perfectly respectable on any occasion.

"Yep, definitely new to me," Richard muttered. He said it softly, and it echoed softly in the silence.

The remark made Lee beam. "You just haven't starred in enough rom-coms." He sounded self-satisfied, like he'd been saving that one up for a special occasion such as this. "I see you're wearing it."

Richard touched his tie. "It" could not have referred to any other thing at that moment. "Couldn't you have chosen another color?"

"Nope," Lee happily reported. "I made a bet with myself that red silk would suit you." He grinned brilliantly. "I won."

Richard tried not to think of the other red silk bits of clothing that Lee was probably thinking of making him wear in the future. He concentrated on making this night worth it, as Lee had obviously put a great deal of time and effort into putting it together.

He stepped forward and trapped the younger, taller man in a tight hug, which was aptly returned.

"Happy anniversary," Richard whispered. "Although I really don't know what you're trying to do here."

He could feel Lee chuckle against him. "Be old-fashioned, I suppose," Lee answered.

Lee's hand moved away for a bit so he could snap his fingers. Close to Richard's ear (though not on purpose, certainly), the sound of the snap was really, really loud.

It only had to be loud enough to trigger a state of the art media system, which had apparently been waiting for that signal all night.

The lights dimmed. A tune vaguely familiar to Richard started to pipe in from hidden speakers that seemed to be everywhere. Light bounced off the chandelier shards in sequence, projecting spots of color across the room. Richard asked himself how this could possibly count as "old-fashioned."

And without letting Richard go, Lee started to move his feet.

Richard chuckled and tried to break away, but Lee's hold on him - one hand holding his, the other pressed against the small of his back - was difficult to heartlessly abandon. Richard quickly decided that it was harmless to indulge him, and matched him step for step.

"So. Do you remember when we were in school, and there were all these dances," Lee was starting to say, "and this song played in all those dances? Like, nearly every single one?"

Richard's brow furrowed as he thought back. "No," he answered presently, "can't remember this one from any of mine. I remember this one formal where they played a lot of ABBA..."

Lee laughed. Richard had never before thought of ABBA being that funny.

"You're not serious." Lee sighed. "I pity the children who were deprived of this song growing up."

It was a slow song, with the vocals stripped to make room for a smooth saxophone solo. It seemed to Richard a little cheesy, for such a classy affair... but what mattered was that Lee was enjoying it. It seemed to relax him, take him back to a simpler time.

The truth was, it had not been easy, for either of them - not since they met for the first time on set, on this exact day last year. They'd had to hide, and outside the carefully planned trysts, the hurried kisses, the tentative touching of fingers behind the scenes between takes, there was too little time, too little opportunity.

Richard found himself infected with Lee's calm. They had too few moments to feel utterly at peace in each other's company. Despite the mush, he, too, felt soothed by the way their bodies flowed across the floor.

Then he realized something, and he remarked, "Hm."

"What?" Lee asked.

"It's just, I remember you saying... tall people couldn't dance."

Lee smiled at him.

"I said tall people don't dance," he gently corrected. "I never said we can't."


End file.
